Sharing My Latest Manuscript with the Masses
I’ve shared my writing journey with anyone who will listen since 2015. That’s the year I started blogging here about the book I was writing, (that eventually got published in 2019), about the Valley Fire. AFTER THE FIRE, was a work of my deepest desire to create something beautiful from the utter devastation and heartbreak caused by the inferno that rocked my community to its core. But once it was in print, I had to move on.
So many of you keep asking me why I haven’t written a sequel. Goodness knows I have plenty of material to work with since there were countless fires our community had to contend with for many years following, and a husband that was in the fire service for 40 years. And I will…just not now. My heart isn’t ready to relive the tragedies. Instead, I offer you something else.
I’ve written several books since AFTER THE FIRE, but held onto them in hopes of getting them traditionally published, instead of shouldering all the weight that self-publishing brings, (which is what I did with ATF). I queried agents for my first novel in a proposed trilogy called, THE CLOCKTOWER OF MAPLE CREEK. Some of you might remember that. But when it wasn’t gaining much ground, I impatiently put it aside to decide on later. Then last year, I embarked on something I feel is incredibly special. I started in September of 2023 and finished in February of 2024, a novel that is completely different than any other love story I’ve written, and it’s currently being pitched to agents.
I want you to read the first chapter of my manuscript, WILDFLOWER, here on my blog. I will give you the pitch, and then the first chapter. But I warn you… if domestic violence triggers you, it might not be for you. Not that my book is all about domestic violence, because it’s not. But neglect, substance, and sexual abuse do enter into the story and my protagonist has to deal with these things. I think you will find that you can’t help but to root for Charlie Kane, and realize that everything she goes through helps to mold her into the strong and determined young woman that she will become.
Thanks in advance for reading. Here’s the query I’m working on. Might tweek it a bit more, but like a synopsis, trying to write a query can be like trying to shove an elephant into a handbag. It takes finesse.
WILDFLOWER is inspired by The Police hit, “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”, and the mother-daughter relationship of Cloud and Tully from Kristin Hannah’s, FIREFLY LANE. WILDFLOWER, is edited at 100K words and would sit nicely on the shelf next to, ONE DAY IN DECEMBER, by Josie Silver, or NOVEMBER 9, by Colleen Hoover.
Seventeen-year-old Charlie Kane wants nothing more than to escape her abusive home. An intellectual outcast, she feels alone in the world, and her only outlet is creating illegal street art when she’s not cleaning up her drunken mother’s messes. Tough on the outside, she just wants to feel safe, to belong, and maybe even loved.
Twenty-four-year-old, Jack Connors has just left a dead-end job working for a tabloid magazine in Los Angeles. While dog sitting for his uncle in Sebastopol, California, he’s deciding on his next career move and dreaming of being a writer, but accepts a short-term teaching job. Jack is acquainting himself with the small town, when he meets a beautiful, if somewhat unruly girl on the foggy, coastal streets.
Charlie and Jack meet because of a runaway dog, and have instant chemistry, but she’s spooked by how much she likes him and bolts before they exchange names. They continue to search for each other again, only to discover a disheartening truth that she’s a high school senior, and he’s her substitute teacher. Their powerful, and often strenuous love story, takes them through years of bad timing, career aspirations, and geographical distance.
And now… I give you Chapter One.
WILDFLOWER
“Be careful how you touch her, for she’ll awaken
And sleeps the only freedom that she knows.”
~ Skylark
Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of Charlie Kane’s bedroom window and pulled at her eyelids. She didn’t want to wake and face the reality of what had happened the night before. Sleep was all she wanted. The dark void of nothingness and an escape from feeling and knowing. Still, she knew the sun didn’t give two fucks about what she wanted, and it would continue to rise each day whether she craved darkness or not.
If she couldn’t control when the August daylight arrived, she could at least control where she chose to be. Today, she wanted to leave the world behind and go to the library and dive into another book to block out last night, and how her mother had failed her once again.
As she laid on her stomach listening to the old creaky house, Charlie squeezed her eyes and hoped that the asshole Greg was gone. Her mother Cece and her boyfriend Greg, were quite drunk and belligerent the night before. When Cece told him how stupid he was, he wacked her across the cheek, leaving Cece in a limp pile on the couch, crying and sporadically laughing all at once like some insane lunatic. But Charlie made the mistake of getting involved.
When she’d told Greg to stay the fuck away from her mother, he’d turned his full attention on Charlie, forgetting her crumpled mother, who was hysterical and blabbering on incoherently on the couch.
“Oh, you want some of this sweetheart? You think you are better than me too? Fuck you Kane women! You ain’t smarter than me and you ain’t better.”
Charlie backed up against the wall of the adjoining small kitchen, as Greg had moved fast to get in her face, greasy skin and fists as big as canned hams. She was taller than him, but her skinny five-foot, ten-inch body was still only a hundred and thirty pounds, and being rail thin, he had the upper hand in weight and strength.
Charlie was against the wall with one hip at the countertop. The kitchen wall clock behind her head ticked so loudly in her ears she thought maybe it was the sound of her racing heartbeat that was pounding like a rabbit’s. Greg’s nose at her chin, he looked up into her eyes and snarled at her.
“Not so brave now, are ya, you little slut. You will learn that I don’t take no orders from a kid. You backed up now? Say you are sorry.”
Holding his eyes with hers, Charlie reached over slowly with one hand to the counter in hopes to grab a knife out of the block sitting there, but she was too far. Instead, she tried to talk him down.
“I only want you to leave my mom alone. That’s all. She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just drunk.”
He took a step back but kept his eyes glued to her as he crossed his arms over his barrel chest. For a short guy, he was thick as a fire plug with forearms big and hairy. They looked like he could snap her in half. Charlie’s mouth was dry, and her long, curly hair was sticking to her face, neck and back. She could feel sweat dripping between her breasts and drizzling down between her shoulder blades inside her tank top.
“She’s weak. That’s what she is. But you…I think you are fiery,” he said moving closer now with a smile. “Yeah, maybe I could take a taste of you, and all will be forgiven.”
Charlie stiffened at his closeness, sickened by his sour breath. Her head against the wall, she put her hands up to block his sweaty chest from pressing against her but the next thing she knew, he was running his meaty palm up her thigh to the inside of her shorts.
“Get the fuck off of me you creep!” she yelled.
He pushed harder against her, and Charlie struggled, wondering why her mother wasn’t doing anything to stop him, to pull him off, but Cece sat dazed now on the floor. As Greg was fighting Charlie to undo the button of her shorts, she drew her knee up hard and fast, smashing into his groin, and down he went in a groan to the floor.
Charlie ran over to her mother who just sat watching but doing nothing.
“Now you’ve done it,” she mumbled softly. “Shouldn’t have done that Charlotte.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now? MOM!” she pleaded.
Greg was coughing and growling, muttering words in between. “You crazy bitch,” he spat.
When it was clear Cece was in no condition to help her, Charlie ran to her room, blocked the door with a chair and flopped on her bed. She’d stayed there watching the door for quite a while before realizing Greg was too drunk and stunned to pursue her or her mother any further that night. When things got quiet, Charlie decided to leave and went out her bedroom window, propping it open so she could return later the same way she’d left.
Now with the start of a new day after only about two hours sleep, Charlie got up and looked outside to see if Greg’s truck was still in the driveway. Luckily it was gone. He must have left during the small amount of time she actually slipped into deep, dark slumber. It was still there when she’d returned just before dawn from a night out with The Guerrillas, the local graffiti artists of Sebastopol, and the Bodega Bay area of California.
Charlie moved the rickety chair away from her door and cracked it open just enough to sneak out quietly. She found her mother lying on her stomach on the ancient, sagging couch with one arm hanging to the floor. It was still early and knowing Cece like she did, she’d be out for hours sleeping it off.
Feeling a bit more relaxed with the asshole Greg gone, Charlie brushed her teeth and washed her armpits and chest with a washcloth before going to her room and changing into fresh, comfortable clothes. She raked through her uncontrollable hair with a brush and slapped on some deodorant before walking outside of their shabby 1940’s bungalow rental.
Passing by her steel-gray 1968 Volkswagen Beetle that sat lifeless in the driveway, Charlie gave a heavy sigh. It really would be so much easier if she could take her car instead of walking into town, but with the transmission still needing repairs, she had no choice until she had the money to get it fixed.
Since the library didn’t open until ten o’clock, Charlie made her way to Retrograde Coffee for a latte and bagel. She could at least read the paper or scroll her phone while she waited. Normally, Charlie didn’t like to go where she worked on her day off, feeling guilty for not working, but today she had nowhere else to go. Staying home wasn’t an option, and her list of friends to call was non-existent.
Charlie was a loner, introverted and liked it that way, or so she tried to tell herself. She only had acquaintances at school, and The Guerrillas were of all ages, and only went by nicknames so nobody could rat them out. She didn’t really know any of them on a personal level.
Street art was one of Charlie’s passions, but it was illegal, and nobody wanted to get pinched. Her alias was Star, after her love of the wildflower, Star Lily, (or its proper name Leucocrinum montanum). No one in the street art community was close with Charlie or knew her real life. She didn’t think anyone of them really were friends by day, but everyone in The Guerrillas respected each other and their work. It wasn’t vandalism, like the city ordinance claimed. It was true art, and some of these people would travel around from place to place, just creating the most beautiful and symbolic paintings in one night. Charlie felt alive in their presence. But when daylight threatened, like vampires, they all vanished.
The crisp air in Sebastopol on this August morning was refreshing. The fog hadn’t lifted yet and the streets on that Saturday were still quiet, as the Sonoma County town was just beginning to wake up. While making her way to Main Street, there were shop owners inside their buildings just turning on lights. She passed clothing stores, yoga studios, and rock shops, as well as nail salons, art galleries, and restaurants. A few other people were walking the sidewalks with their dogs and carrying coffees, dressed in leggings and North Face pullovers. It was summer, but with the coastal influence, Sebastopol had a very misty feeling early in the morning.
As she entered Retrograde Coffee, her bosses’ familiar faces were at the counter. A husband-and-wife team looked up at her and gave a smile. Charlie was a really good barista even at only seventeen years old, and she was often the favorite of many customers. Even though she liked her privacy and didn’t allow herself to have close relationships, she was smart enough to understand that polite conversation and smiling a lot gained you more tips. She needed the tips.
Placing her order for a mocha latte and everything bagel, Teri and Michael were too swamped to ask her much about why she was out and about so early on a Saturday, or why she was there on her day off. She sat at a window table to watch the town unfold, and before long, it was nearly ten o’clock. Time for the library to open.
Charlie walked a block west and was rounding the corner of Bodega Avenue when a small dog with fluffy hair came flying towards her with a leash and no owner attached to it. The shaggy white and tan dog came barreling down the sidewalk and ran right into Charlie’s arms as she protectively blocked the critter from going any further.
She picked up the weightless dog that felt lighter than air and held it in her arms looking for anyone that might belong to the fur ball. Then rounding the corner from the Wells Fargo Bank came a stressed-out looking guy with a large Labrador on a leash. He was in shorts, ankle socks, and a sweatshirt. The worried look on his face was cute, then as he saw her holding the small dog, he almost looked apologetic, shaking his head.
“There you are. Holy shit, I’m so sorry he got away. I was trying to use the ATM machine and somehow dropped his leash.”
As the man neared Charlie, she felt herself go weak at the sight of this twenty-something hunk with dark facial stubble, and eyes that could melt your heart. He started to smile as he got closer, and he was so good looking it hurt. A dimple in his right cheek was deep and adorable, and something new stirred inside Charlie. She didn’t want to flee.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“That escape artist is Henry. I’m not sure he likes taking walks but obviously he loves to run.”
She didn’t want to let the tiny creature go because the longer she had possession of the dog, the longer the guy had to stay with her. He was tall. Taller than her, which was rare for Charlie, and he had broad shoulders which instantly she wondered how they would feel to touch.
“So, you didn’t know if he would like a walk, yet you took him for a walk with this big guy? Don’t you own him or are you a dog-napper?” she prodded, protectively holding the pup.
“He’s actually not mine. He belongs to my uncle who I’m dog sitting for. House sitting too, I guess. This one is George. Thank God he’s chill.”
He rubbed the top of the head of the large Labrador that looked to be every bit of one hundred and twenty pounds. The look in that dog’s eyes though was clear, he was laid back with no worries in the world.
“Well, we can’t all be perfect like George there. Henry might be scared of cars and people,” she suggested, holding the good-looking guys blueish-green eyes with hers.
“My uncle insisted they go on walks all the time. Maybe he’s just a runner and I let my guard down,” he smiled that irresistible smile again with teeth so perfect Charlie thought she might sigh out loud.
Holding Henry close, he started to lick her chin and wiggled wildly. Smiling, she let him down and held onto his leash for good measure, keeping him near her but not offering the leash to the attractive stranger.
“What kind of dog is Henry?”
“I think my uncle said he’s a Havanese. Apparently, they don’t shed because they have hair instead of fur. George here seems to shed enough to knit a sweater so the companion dog he got for him had to have hair. Do you know much about dogs?”
Charlie had never had a pet because her mother was far too self-absorbed and could scarcely take care of herself, much less a pet. A clear example would be in their always empty refrigerator. Most of the time Charlie took care of her mother instead of the other way around. Besides, pets required food and vet bills, which they never had the money for with Cece’s hairdresser wages, but Charlie had always yearned for something to cuddle and love. It just never worked out. Instead, she read about animals and learned from books, like she learned about everything else that interested her.
“I know enough. I know that you have your hands full with Henry here. He will require a lot more attention from you while you are visiting. Where are you from anyway? Not around here, that’s for sure.”
Her antagonistic grilling was a piss poor attempt of flirting, but what did she know of flirting? Being confrontational was her default. Putting his free hand into the pocket of his shorts as he looked at her with an amused smirk, he asked, “What makes you say that?”
“Because I would have known if you were a local.”
“Oh, yeah? How so?” He raised his eyebrows as his thick, dark hair fell over one eye.
Charlie looked at him up and down as Henry circled her legs and she sidestepped over his leash.
“For one, around here, most people wear long socks and slides. You have no-show socks and tennis shoes. Also, your sweatshirt says Long Beach. I’m guessing you’re a SoCal guy.”
He looked at his sweatshirt and laughed. “I guess that was a tell. You got me. So, you are local then, huh?”
“Very.” She couldn’t believe she was still talking to him, and that her nerves didn’t make her clam up. “So, is this house you are staying at enormous to accommodate that dog?” she nodded towards George.
“Um…” he scratched his chin stubble that was incredibly sexy and made Charlie want to feel it. “It’s fairly large. Yeah, George is plenty comfortable there.”
She was running out of things to say to keep him there. When he left, she’d be alone again. Alone with her thoughts and it was far better admiring the tall stranger than thinking.
“Where were you going before you had to rescue my dog?” he asked, turning to walk back up the hill.
Charlie fell into step alongside him, holding Henry’s leash herself. The little dog trotted beside her comfortably.
“I was going to the library,” she pointed across the street and up the hill.
“Big reader huh?”
“Yep. Books are always there for you. You can experience anything you want to in books. Do you read?”
He laughed for a second and she thought maybe he was some jock that only watched sports and never cracked a book in school. But then he surprised her.
“I was actually an English major. I studied creative writing and journalism at UCLA. Honestly, I was working for some tabloid rag in L.A. and had to leave because although it paid the bills, it’s not what I want to be doing. I want to write something great. I want to be a novelist. So, yeah. I read quite a lot.”
Charlie couldn’t believe her good fortune. He liked books! But as they were getting closer to the library, she knew soon he’d go. She could walk slower but it was still not going to be enough to stop time, and unlike most guys, Charlie wanted to get to know him.
“Who do you read?” she asked.
“Oh, well…Um so many. I love James Patteson, Grisham, Dean Koontz, the classics, ya know…Fitzgerald, Hemingway. But recently I’ve been reading Lisa Scottoline. Her mysteries are freakin’ unreal.”
“I like her too. I was wondering if you were going to list any female authors or if you were just interested in male authors. Women are really slaying it in publishing, you know? And Hemingway’s third wife Martha Gellhorn, fought hard to get out from his shadow.” She nearly bit her tongue for coming on too strong.
They looked both ways as they crossed the street to the library. The brick building had two patrons waiting outside of it and as the doors were unlocked, they went inside, leaving Charlie and the tall stranger alone on the sidewalk.
“Well, I’ll have to check her out. I’m not sexist ya know. I just read whatever interests me.”
They leaned against the brick wall of the building as the sun was piercing through the tree leaves, sending shards of light into their eyes as they spoke. Charlie shielded her face with one hand to get a better look at this hot guy. Having graduated college, he was older than her. Possibly too old. Still, he was young enough that they both seemed pulled to continue the conversation, wanting to know more. Charlie was drinking up everything he said. He loved books! Nobody her age talked about books with her, much less someone she was attracted to.
“Okay, I stand corrected then about my assumption. I read everything too. Fiction, memoir, narrative non-fiction stuff.” She closed her mouth then, worrying she was babbling.
Henry was staring up at her with anticipation. She leaned to pick him up to pet him as they continued to talk. His light little body was like holding a bird even though he looked like he’d weigh much more.
When Charlie looked back at this guy that she’d just met, he too was drinking up her every word, eyes locked on hers and fully engaged. Charlie felt her stomach flip as he held her gaze. Those eyes shaded by dark lashes. Without touching her, she had the feeling of being caressed. It was like magic, this sensation of connection. It was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was wonderful and mysterious.
It scared the shit out of her.
“I love that. Yeah, I read non-fiction too. Have you read The Warmth of Other Suns, by Isabel Wilkerson? It’s a fantastic migration story. You’d like it,” he said stepping closer to her. See? I read female authors,” he smiled bright as the sun.
Handing Henry’s leash over to him she nodded, looking away and tucking a wild hair behind her ear as the breeze kicked up.
“Yeah, I will look for that one. Listen I gotta run.”
She looked into his eyes one last time, knowing he was out of her league, too busy, too occupied with a future for himself she didn’t belong in, and he was just a visitor to her town anyway. What was the point? She decided to go before it got any harder.
He looked at her puzzled and accepted the leash, but not before grabbing her loosely by the wrist and if she wasn’t mistaken, Charlie thought he rubbed the inside of her wrist with his thumb. It felt like tingly velvet and sent a bolt of energy to her heart space that surprised her.
“You in a hurry?” he asked holding both leashes in one hand.
Gathering every ounce of strength she had to straighten her spine, Charlie snickered in an effort to seem aloof and mysterious. Reluctantly, she pulled away.
“I’m a busy girl. See ya Dog Man. You really need to watch ole Henry. Don’t let him go or someone will swipe him up and take him home.”
She turned and nearly skipped away, telling herself to go. To get! Don’t look back or you will lose your nerve to walk away from the beautiful man that will just end up breaking your heart. Everyone does eventually. Don’t let your guard down.
And as she was nearing the library door he shouted, “But wait! I don’t even know your name.”
She turned with a hand on the door and said, “Does it matter?”
Charlie went inside and forced herself to move ahead without turning back.
********
So that’s the first chapter. Here’s what I’d like from you. FEEDBACK! If you want the second chapter from Jack’s POV, I will drop it here. If chapter one left you wanting more, please say so by either leaving a comment on Instagram, or Facebook, or email me at pdienerauthor@gmail.com to let me know. Also, sharing this blog or my posts from social media about this will help. It would mean the world to me. And if you happen to have an agent friend or someone in publishing…SHARE THIS.
As always… Happy Reading. More to come soon on what is going to happen to my other books in my Maple Creek trilogy.
Xoxo ~ Patti
* The photos of typing are courtesy of pexels.com.
